


Guardian Angel

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Samifer Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 22:50:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Guardian Angel (n): An angel believed to have special affection for a particular individual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardian Angel

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Lucifer doesn’t recognize his Father when his eyes fall on the scrawny male cowering in the corner of what may just be ground zero. Car sirens are screeching and wailing off on the street and the walls to this building were blown to bits, the metal and concrete foundation in broken pieces. Jagged edges of metal jutted out like outstretched fingers, the scent of gunpowder permeating through the air. The fallen angel only sees a prophet wheezing and gasping for air and sanity on the situation occurring, Lucifer dismissing him as if he was part of the background. For once, this baffles God as behind the disheveled appearance of a mismanaged prophet stare eyes of endless pools of insight. Lucifer disregards him and instead is focused on his one true vessel who is lying in a pool of his own blood. 

Sam is a mess of strewn limbs, chest rising in erratic puffs, a distinct clicking could be heard if one were to lower the volume of the background noise. Could be the sound of loose molars clacking inside Sam’s mouth or just the chatter of teeth as he’s wracked with a distinct cold that comes when death creeps in. Eyes are wide open, wet streaks across the side of his face that’s slipping into his ears. Reeking of blood and charred flesh, who can say what sort of flames licked his flesh. Whether it was heavenly, hellish or simply the combustion of released heat from a spark to fuel, it could not be discerned due to the discombobulated mess and markings of all three across this town. 

Sinking down onto his knees beside the body, blue eyes meet a watery mixture of tepid emerald and chestnut, and fear is not expressed. Instead there’s coming relief, eyes slowly closing. “You are aware if you just say _yes_ things like this will never happen?” Lucifer breaks the silence between them, his cold fingers already reaching out to lay across his forehead as if to check his temperature. 

Sam cracks a smile but it’s pitiful and makes his face wince in pain at the motions, a shuddering sound rattling out of his ribs. “Nice try. I know you can just heal me,” Sam whooshed out before wheezing for air, repeating unsteadily, “Nice...try.” The blond smiles in turn, already healing the broken bones and mutilated skin, the hunter slowly returning to a sight easier to bear. 

Sam pushes himself so he’s sitting, touching his arm as if to check if it’s still whole. Lucifer smirks, a snort of humor leaving his mouth, “I suppose I’ll have to resort to my...winning personality.” Despite it all, Sam can’t help laughing. He can’t stop. It’s beginning to hurt his throat and he’s unsure of when it turned into pained sobs, throat clogged with his own tears and saliva. The archangel is rigid and unsure, eyes squinting as if he was trying to discern what was occurring and how to respond. When it came to manipulating and coercing, how to react flowed naturally and he picked up on the social cues as if he was a being born with such capacity. 

But Lucifer was not here to manipulate nor to coerce. He came because his other half was in danger and he was displeased with himself that he came too late to prevent the damage. Lucifer is clueless how to act, suddenly acting akin to his angel brethren, genuine confusion flashing across depths of those blue eyes. Sam was choking on the name of his brother, blubbering and whispering to himself words he could not make out, but Dean was always a word clear amongst the babble. That blank look overtook the blond’s face, fingers twitching as if debating whether to remain put or not. 

Lucifer can only assume that whatever occurred here that Dean may be in another sort of trouble or dead. So he watches his vessel cry, shoulders shaking violently with each heave and the Devil is blanking on a solution. Out of impulse he lays his left hand across the Winchester’s cheek, thumb sweeping at the spilled tears and Sam instantly leans forward into him. Forehead resting on his shoulder, the Devil felt hands fist into his shirt, stiffly continuing. It’s only after a minute or so does he allow his frame to relax, letting his thumb stroke the curve of his cheekbone. 

There’s a distinct calming wash on the nerves, due to bound soul and Grace in close proximity from the other, that it’s nothing but energy singing in four-part harmony. Sam is searching for comfort in the nearest pair of arms in this crisis and Lucifer is acutely aware that if this was any other situation this would never happen. Sam would be openly resisting him and he would be back to giving his pitch on why he was the right choice. But those thoughts are unable to spoil the buzz of feel-good shudders and waves of mute satisfaction. Slowly Sam’s tears begin to fall less and his shudders begin to die down, soothed like a mother rocking her child. 

Sam is the one to pull away, Lucifer’s hand falling into his lap. “Why are you doing this? You know I’m not going to say it,” Sam is wiping at his nose with the back of his hand and Lucifer should be repulsed by this snot-nosed, tearstained hunter. Or at least argue with him diplomatically that Sam cannot ignore destiny’s calling. Instead he gives a contemplative _hmph_ and rises to his feet, peering down at Sam with those clever eyes of his. Already his fingers miss the contact between vessel and archangel and that natural high created when touching.

“Well, Sam, that’s the funny thing about guardian angels,” Lucifer replied matter-of-factly as he extended his hand to the Winchester, “We’re always sticking around even when our vessels stubbornly refuse to see reason.” 

God still remains an observer from afar, watching the Winchester take the Devil’s hand so he can be helped onto his feet. He gives a secretive smile, because he is no longer Lucifer’s priority and concern anymore. His son, who has placed him on a pedestal of obsession and pain, does not see him. 

He only sees Sam Winchester.

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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